Centennial Beach, unclean and busy,
the merry-go-round at the park in pieces
to spare the young from chipped teeth.
Every June our family gathers at a pit to roast
hot dogs until sunset, until nausea.
My cousin Jacob and I are picked to wait,
secure a perfect spot. Our nana places
pink donuts on our laps, rubs lotion
on my face, the scented kind from hotels,
then sits on the hood of her car, the sleeves
of her custard sweater rolled around her elbows.
We wait for our aunts and uncles, stuck
in rush hour, who must let their babies nap,
change from housecoats or suits into denim.
Jacob and I don’t feel the tension, simply
ingest the sugar of family, the salt of family,
the processed meat of family. Jacob, a teenager
with a beautiful girlfriend, climbs the alder tree
above us. I time him then call for him. I love
and fear him the higher he gets. At the top he says,
watch me break my collarbone. His mother,
broken, caught in traffic, will say nothing, will love
to take her son to emergency, add this to a list
of reasons why the world cannot be on her side.
I tell Jacob if he jumps his girlfriend will cry
And I’m surprised that this is enough. I feel
the high school love in him from below,
catch in the breeze, trace his throat.
Later, I fall asleep on the picnic table,
my head sugared with fear, imagining
he did jump and what that would mean.
~ from This Will Be Good (Book Thug, 2018)
